


Acta est fabula, plaudite!

by Almost_Star_Struck



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern with Magic, Alternate Universe - Theatre, F/F, Lots of Sewing, M/M, Sewing, Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-24
Updated: 2016-09-24
Packaged: 2018-08-17 00:27:22
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 14,945
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8123497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Almost_Star_Struck/pseuds/Almost_Star_Struck
Summary: All the world's a stage, And all the men and women merely players; They have their exits and their entrances, and one man in his time plays many many parts.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I had to do some major edits last minute so some of these scenes are a bit rushed (Mostly Krem, Sera, and Dagna >,>) Much thanks to my wonderful Beta Dichotomous-dragon. 
> 
> HubbaBubbaGumPop and Starkurt were my beautiful and ever patient artists.
> 
> This is my first MB and it's been...a real challenge.

Skyhold Theater was in a prime location along Downtown Denerim. But with the roofing practically caved in from several decades of heavy winter snow and the mold climbing up the rusted pipes in the bathrooms, it was clear that the building had seen better days.

“As you can see, there is still much work to be done,” Theater Director de Fer explained, gesturing toward the stonework along the outside of the building. “I trust that you have read over the contract, Iron Bull?” She turned her steely brown eyes on him. The Qunari just cracked a grin, his single eye scanning over the foundation.

“Shit yeah. It’s a tough project, but that’s what you pay us for.” He paused, seeing the Director raise a single perfectly sculpted eyebrow. He cleared his throat and added, “Ma’am.”

Madame de Fer nodded and then led him through the main entrance. The overall space was well set up, big and spacious enough to hold a crowd, but not so large that the stage was no longer the focal point. The old stage itself was given a rudimentary set on which actors read from thick printed scripts while a casting Director and his assistants graded from the first row.

“Our show opens the 9th of Kingsway. The construction will need to be completed about a month before to allow for a proper inspection and any last minute alterations.” The Director gestured toward the stage. “Unfortunately, this means your work will interrupt much of ours. I expect you and your crew to distract the actors and stage cast as  _little as possible_.”

The Bull nodded and watched as a young blond boy with a watery eyes took the stage, his skin blindingly bright under the lights lining the stage as he struggled to project across the auditorium. “Might want to start in and work our way out then. Then when it’s closer to crunch, we’ll be as far away from the stage as we can get.”

Madame de Fer smiled warmly, but there was still a sense of distance behind it. “Well then, file the paper work with Miss Montilyet at the front office and you are hired, Iron Bull.”

* * *

Dorian was going to lose his mind. He had only a few months to make twenty costumes from scratch (High Orlesian fashion from the  _Dragon Age_  at that), but he was sans actors to work with. He had long since looked over the script, basing his designs on the literal weeks of research into Orlesian politics, fashion, and style to determine the best sort of costumes to pair each character with, but with no measurements to go off of he was ready to tear his hair from the root.

Well not literally…

Worse still was the constant sawing and hammering that plagued the theater at all hours of the day. He winced at the sound of a nail gun going off, the latte shaking in his hand as he poured over his folder of references.

He was jarred from his work when a Qunari the size of a small car walked down the aisle of seats, carrying the largest ladder Dorian had ever seen. The man placed it down on the stage and set the base locks. “Hey Krem! Hold the bottom for me,” the man called back.

One of the human contractors sighed and put a hammer aside, adjusting his safety glasses as he climbed up the stairs to the stage. He took hold of the ladder’s base and called out, “Got it, Chief. Don’t get your horns tangled in the wiring up there.”

Then the large man began to climb. Dorian’s eyes followed him up, the ladder shaking slightly with each step. The ceiling wasn’t particularly high by Tevinter architectural standards, but it was still impressive to watch someone scale up to the high lights and start working as if they weren’t 30 feet from the floor. Then again, the man was practically a third of the way there with his own height.

_Fasta vass he’s huge._

“Krem, glasses on. Some plaster’s gonna come down.” The Qunari called, his deep voice echoing around the space. The man holding the ladder adjusted his safety goggles and face mask, giving a thumbs up. Then plaster chunks started raining down onto the plastic sheeting covering the stage. Dorian winced as each piece made a dull but echoing “thud” against the wood.

“How’s the budget going, Vinty?”

Dorian scowled and dropped his pen to the paper, turning to look at the blonde elf who had managed to squeeze out a seat onto one of the prop bins next to him. “Horribly, given the racket. I can barely hear myself think.” He looked over the list he had so far and added, “How are the special effects coming along?”

Sera huffed, pulling her spindly legs up and crossing them crookedly. “Money’s real tight with all the reno stuff so nothin’ too fancy in the works. But Ms. Bossybitch won’t let me do anything with explosives. Says it’s not  _‘period accurate’_.” She used airquotes and made a face. “If you ask me, this place could use a few good booms.” Another massive piece hit the floor of the stage and she winced, tugging at a loose string on her tattered blue sweater. “Shite, they takin’ the whole bloody ceiling?”

“Seems to be so.” Dorian ran a hand through his hair and reached for his coffee, only for Sera to grab the cup and steal a sip. She made a face and glared at the offending drink.

“How many ‘spressos in that?” she said, sticking out her tongue.

Dorian gave a flick of his wrist, making the cup zoom from her hand into his. He made a show of drinking it, licking the foam from his lips as she rolled her eyes. “Oh,  _at least_  five.” He chuckled at Sera’s shudder and said, “Trust me, I’m going to need this. Shopping for all of this is going to be as pleasant as a walk through Minrathous during Funeralis.”

He picked up the credit card he had been assigned for the fabrics and shook his head. He’d be lucky if he got half of what he needed. Then again, if there was anything he was good at, it was faking that he knew what he was doing.

_Fake it till you make it as Mae always said._

“Loose wire!”

Dorian barely had time to look up before a heavy cable was swinging down from the ceiling toward him and Sera. He stood, shoving his folding chair back and away with a clatter as he quickly conjured a barrier. Sera turned away, a grimace on her face as the wire smacked against the transparent shield hard enough to draw the attention of everyone in the auditorium. Dorian glanced around with a scowl, releasing the barrier as the cable now swung harmlessly back and forth in front of his face, all momentum lost.

 Art by Starkurt

The Qunari was hurrying down the ladder, removing his goggles as he went. “Shit, didn’t expect that one to get away from me.” He looked over Dorian and Sera, a single green eye worryingly looking them both over, “You guys ok?”

“We could have been seriously hurt, but you know, doing just fine,” Dorian groused, picking up his things and stacking them as best he could. The Qunari frowned and reached out to touch his shoulder. Dorian stepped away before he could. The taller man frowned, but didn't press, lowering his hand back to his side.

“Look, it was an accident. I thought it was secured better than it was. That was my bad.” He glanced between the two of them. “Let’s get you both moved further away in case there’s more crappy wiring. I’ll get you guys a couple of drinks after work to call it even.” 

“You’ve got a deal, mister-“ Sera hopped off the prop bins, looking the Qunari over with a questioning expression. The big man laughed, his whole torso shaking with the motion. It made a chill run up Dorian’s spine as he watched the man’s chest undulate.

“The Iron Bull, ma'am." He tried to tip his construction helmet, but it was buckled around his horns so he wiggled the front instead.

Dorian snorted. “Unfortunately, Mr. Bull, some of us have _work_  to do.” He did admit…it would be nice to get a few free drinks, but he just didn’t have the time to be spending an evening lolly-gagging around some Ferelden Dive-bar with a Qunari. 

That and he had seen Sera shit-faced  _once._  He didn’t need to watch her give cunnilingus lessons to blushing Denerim University students...again.

He gave a polite, but curt nod of his head and walked away, leaving Sera and the… _Bull_  to discuss their after work plans.

Once he settled even farther way from the stage, he sighed and pulled out his budget form and the credit card. He had never had so little to work with on such short notice.

“Maker help me.”

 

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by HubbaBubbaGumPop.

If it wasn’t snowing in Ferelden, it was  _raining._  Dorian swore, holding a tattered copy of the  _Randy Dowager Quarterly_  over his head as he ran to the bus stop. In Tevinter, state of the art trains ran routinely, making the need for cars in the packed streets practically non-existent. In Ferelden, the freeways were big and the buses rare.

Thankfully the stop was at least covered. He shivered and clutched his jacket seams close to his chest. The zipper had ripped the other day, but with his current project, there had been no time to mend it. Typical day in Ferelden.

He exhaled and tossed the sopping paper into the trash which smelled vaguely of piss (pleasant), and checked his phone for the time.

8:23. Another 40 minutes until his bus arrived.

A few cars passed and Dorian stepped back away from the curb to avoid the splashback, wincing as a few stray drops hit his cheek. At least his clothes were black this time. Suddenly he heard the double doors of the theater opening and he glanced back, watching as the construction team from earlier that day walked out, hoods drawn on everyone, save for that literal bull-headed Qunari who didn’t seem to mind the rain pelting his scarred face.

They laughed as they headed to the small parking lot, splitting up and waving to one another as they reached their vehicles. Dorian frowned, somewhat jealous as he watched them all drive away, perfectly shielded from the rain.

He glanced back down at his phone.

8:27

 _“Kaffas,”_  he muttered to himself, closing his eyes as he leaned his head against the cool metal of the awning.

Suddenly there was the rumble of an engine and the squeak of wet tires on wetter asphalt. Dorian prepared himself for the splash, but instead all he got was the hiss of a well-oiled set of breaks.

“Hey Vint, you ok?”

Dorian opened his eyes and found himself staring at the most garish metal eye-patch he had ever seen. He blinked and then glanced around, taking in the Qunari and his massive red truck. “Pardon?”

The Bull smiled in a way that Dorian admitted held some sort of rugged charm and said, “You, big guy. Are you ok? You look like you need a ride.” He gestured to his passenger’s seat casually with one large hand.

“I have a bus to catch, actually,” Dorian heaved his bag up higher along his shoulder, lifting his chin. He was going for dignified, but he knew that it probably appeared pitiful given his drenched state. 

“Yeah well, I still owe you for almost whacking you in the theatre. How ‘bout a ride to wherever you’re going?” Bull gestured again to the empty seat beside him. Dorian frowned thoughtfully.

_The Ferelden rain or a ride from a strange man who almost killed me?  Truly a conundrum of stupendous proportions._

Without another word, Dorian ran around to the passenger’s side and shoved his bag onto the seat before climbing in himself. The Bull smiled at him and cranked up the heater, manually rolling his window back up. The sound of rain splatter became muffled and Dorian could make an 80's cover playing on the radio under the rumbling of the engine. “Where to, big guy?” Bull paused, running his hands over the leather steering wheel. “You know, I never got your name back there. You left in a hurry.”

Exhaling and rubbing his numb fingers together, the mage muttered, “Dorian.” He blew a bit of magically heated air onto his hands and tried not to shiver too much as the heater slowly wafted over his sopping clothes. Truly such machines were Maker-sent.

“Well, Dorian if you don’t buckle up we don’t go anywhere.” The Bull gestured to the seatbelt and Dorian frowned, fumbling with it before he managed to sling it over his torso, feeling the solid clip as he was strapped into place. Bull smiled and pulled out such an absurdly large cellphone that it might as well have been a tablet. “Where to?”

“ _GoldAnna’s Fabrics_  on Freemarch Drive.” Dorian said, watching Bull type it into his GPS. The radio paused and was replaced with a deep voice that purred in Qunlat from the speakers. The Bull handed the phone to Dorian as he pulled out of the theatre lot, his truck easily gripping the damp asphalt.

“So I saw your designs in there. You're working on makin’ all the fancy Orlesian crap for the show?" Bull said conversationally, his hands gripping the wheel confidently even as the rain pelted down around them. How he could see so well with just one eye was a complete mystery to Dorian who could barely seen more than a foot past the window even with his contacts.

Dorian nodded, his gaze drifting from the road to the man beside him. He swallowed thickly. Bull's bicep had to be the size of a small  _melon._  “The Orlesians were very fond of large elaborate gowns, non-sensible footwear, and horrid masks. Typical Dragon Age trends," he said with a snort.

Bull chuckled. “The Vints also had a lot of stupid shit though too. Wasn’t there a decade where everyone was painting their teeth black?”

Shuddering, Dorian nodded. “Archon Nomaran was not known for his good personal hygiene. What the Archon does, everyone must emulate.” He glanced up to the Qunari, a questioning expression on his face. Most Southerners had no interest in the history of the Imperium. “I’m surprised you would know that. Storm Era trends are hardly the stuff of architecture.”

“You learn a lot about people from the way they dress. Helps you learn their values, their weaknesses, their strengths.” Bull shrugged, “For instance, that elf girl you were with…Sera? You can tell she likes to play by her own rules. No brand names, lots of loose stitching from consistent use, clashing colors, safety pins over the big holes.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at the rather accurate description of a woman that the Bull had spent all of two minutes talking to. “You aren’t wrong. She is all those things and more." He saw Bull smile and he returned it. "Alright then, if you're so clever, what do my clothes say about me?”

The Bull hummed to himself for a moment, driving them through a deep puddle that made a spray of mud hit the edge of the windows on both sides. “You’re from money originally. Most of your clothes are nice but older and looser, so you’ve lost weight. You’re the type to forget to eat when you get caught up in something and you’ve been caught up in this work for quite some time.” He took another glance at the mage, that single eye raking down his body in a way that Dorian knew was more than just cursory, “You’ve been in Ferelden a while, but you’re not used to the cold yet, so probably only a year since you left Tevinter.”

Pausing, the Qunari smiled, “Also a bit of a rebel." He licked his lips, "I like that in a man.”

Dorian laughed and crossed his arms over his chest. “A rebel? What makes you say that?” 

“People from money don’t just _leave_  Tevinter. But a tough guy like you wouldn’t be forced out either. You wanted to leave so you did, making you a big damn  _rebel_.” The Bull parked in front of the fabric store and reached back, taking a large pink umbrella from under the seat. Dorian stared at it for a moment, noting the delicate lacing around the edges. “Give me a second. I’ll get the door.”

He got out, unfurling the umbrella as he stepped around to Dorian’s side, opening the door. “They close in an hour so we’d better hurry in there.”

Fumbling with the buckle a second time, Dorian stepped under the horrendous umbrella, having to press slightly against the Qunari’s side to keep under the shade.

_Pink...why pink?_

* * *

 

Dorian huffed as he walked through the aisles. None of the elaborate bolts were period accurate and all the others were far too plain for the Orlesian Court. Bull just watched him pace between the aisles, a small smile playing his face. “Not finding anything?” he asked as Dorian passed the same line of velvet bolts for the tenth time.

Heaving a sigh, Dorian turned on his heel and shook his head. “No and I don’t have time to order anything online. Not unless I want to go several hundred gold over budget to have it shipped in tomorrow.” He bit his lip. This play was so important. Not only was it his debut as a designer, but it could potentially revive the dead theater community in Ferelden (something that was  _desperately_  needed).

Skyhold’s opening not only had to be big, it had to be grand.

He sighed, leaning against a rack of pincushions shaped like Mabari and pinched his brow. There were other fabric stores, but they were not close. They definitely were not within Vivienne's strict budget.

“You know, I know a place down in Qun-Town that might have some more exotic stuff,” Bull said, stepping up from behind. He touching over the mage’s shoulder, gripping him firmly as he turned him around. Dorian raised an eyebrow skeptically and the other man laughed, “Just trust me. It’s a bit of a drive, but most of those places stay open pretty late on the weekends.”

“Didn’t you have plans this evening?” Dorian asked in a tired tone as they got back into the truck. He could not help but grimace as Bull stowed his bright umbrella in the back seat.

The Bull shrugged, “I’ll get the boys drinks on another night. It’s real important for you to have the fabric for the play, right? I can spend an evening making sure you get what you need.” He gave a warm smile that made Dorian feel far warm and he patted the mage’s shoulder. “’Sides, not often I get to talk to a handsome guy like you.”

Dorian fell silent, buckling his seat-belt and adjusting the collar of his coat. 

_There's that shoe I've been looking for..._

Bull seemed to pick up on his discomfort and asked, “Sorry, was that too much?” The Bull asked. When Dorian blinked in confusion, he added, “You got quiet. I can stop, just figured you wouldn’t mind.”

“I don’t mind that is,” Dorian said, clearing his throat. He was hardly a stranger to being admired, even in a backwater dog-ridden country like Ferelden. “It was unexpected, but not unwelcome.” 

Bull stared at him for a time, but didn't offer any further conversation as they pulled out of the parking lot.

_No one does things for free, Dorian. There is always, inevitably a price to be paid._

* * *

 

It had stopped raining (thank the Maker) by the time the distinctive red swinging lanterns of Qun-Town came into view.

Qun-Town wasn’t the real name of the Qunari District of Denerim, but  _Taashath Asaaranda_  was probably too much to expect of Ferelden tongues. Dorian held his bag tightly to his side as he followed the Bull out of his truck and onto the streets. The curry carts were starting to close up for the night, but the tea bars were filled with patrons, several tables of knuckle bones set up alongside the sidewalk. A few older looking Qunari with broken horns glanced up from their game, taking in the mage’s appearance and stance before turning back to the board.

“Relax. No one is gonna hurt you,” Bull snickered as he stepped in line next to Dorian, noting the way the Vint walked as if a rod had been jammed through his spine.

“Says you. Vints don’t go to Qun-Town for a reason!” Dorian hissed under his breath, glancing into a tavern where several large Qunari women were watching a Proving match between two burly dwarves on a large CRT-TV as they chugged back bubbling brews.

“No one here cares if you’re a Vint. If you’re here to cause trouble well then you can expect trouble in return,” Bull gestured to a small shop at the end of the street with a plain looking front. The faded Qunlat letters in gold paint contrasted well with the dark purple curtains drawn over the window displays. However it also prevented anyone on the street from seeing inside. “There. Krem gets all his fabrics from that shop.”

Dorian sighed, his boots squelching through the puddles as he made his way up to the door. A bell chimed as he entered and Dorian was immediately hit by the scent of stale dust, fresh tea, and lamp oil. It reminded him of stealing away long nights in his father’s library as a boy, nostalgic and yet somber.

The inside was  _nothing_  like that room.

Bolts of fabric were kept in large stacks on shelves that practically touched the ceiling. There was not a single inch of visible wall behind the bolts and each shelf was so burdened that the wood was warped into gentle waves by the sheer weight of their products. It was cluttered, but only due to the small size of the shop itself, rather than out of disorganization.

Dorian ran his hand over a nearby print, noting that the patterns were much more geometric in style, lots of angles and straight lines. There were plenty more with flowing circles and swirls to create a clear diversity, but the artistry in the silk was truly stunning. It reminded him of the sorts of styles he was used to seeing in the North and he found himself smiling as he traced the curve of a dragon’s throat through the cotton.

“Can I help you?” A woman’s voice in heavily accented common came from behind him. Dorian stiffened and turned, swallowing hard as the largest woman he had ever seen stood, holding out a tea tray that looked comically small in her hands. The Bull smiled politely and accepted one of the steaming cups, bowing his head. 

“Thanks, Tama.” He gestured for Dorian to take one and he did so gingerly, his fingers grateful for the warmth through the simple metal mug. “I brought a friend who is working at Skyhold. He needs some fabric for the costumes in the play and I told him you might be able to help." He paused for her response and she nodded, gesturing for him to continue, "We’re looking for silk. Simple colors, maybe some embroidery work.”

The woman (or Tama Dorian supposed) nodded and placed the tray on a small counter next to an ancient register before heading into the back room. Dorian inhaled the spicy scent of the tea in his hands and sipped slowly to savor the favor. Apparently he would have to go to Qun-Town for decent tea leaves.

After a few minutes, Tama came back with several bolts of silks in varying shades of white and pale yellows and greens. The fabric caught the soft overhead light beautifully to show intricate, but still subtle designs woven into the material. Dorian reached out with his free hand, tracing the seamlines and taking in the cream cloth, tea forgotten in his other hand. “Oh… _oh my._ ”

“Just what you needed, big guy?” Bull asked behind him, a pleased smiled on his face. Dorian nodded dumbly before remembering himself and putting the cup back onto the tray lest he spill it. The fabrics were not exactly Orlesian, but they were simple enough that he could make them pass from a distance on stage. In truth, it was closer to what he needed than he expected to find on such short notice.

“Yes. But I’m afraid to ask the price.” Dorian put down the fabric, resisting the urge to touch it some more as Tama went behind the counter. “I’ll need at least 24 yards of each of these for the dresses alone,” he murmured as he watched her work an old calculator.

Humming to herself, she said, "For the silks, 75 silvers a yard." Dorian winced. That was quite a _large_  amount of gold. Most of his budget for sure. She cleared her throat and then gestured to the Bull “But if  _Ashkaari_  would be willing to pull a few shifts here, I can bring it down to 50 silvers a yard.”

 _“Ashkaari?”_  Dorian asked with a raised brow, looking to Bull for an explanation.

Bull nodded and turned to the mage. “Yeah, sure thing, Tama," he said as he clapped a hand onto Dorian’s shoulder. “That work for you?”

Dorian swallowed thickly and dug through his bag for the credit card, clasping his fingers around the plastic like it was a lifeline.

At the end of the hour they walked out of the shop with several pounds of fabric neatly folded and bundled. Dorian’s budget was a great deal more intact than he had expected.

He looked over at the Bull as they settled his purchase into the red truck. “You’ve done a terrible amount of things for me tonight, Iron Bull,” he said softly.

 _Now to determine the price._  

“Eh, it needed to get done. Everyone needs help sometimes.” Bull sank into the driver’s seat, pulling his seatbelt across his incredibly broad chest. He turned on the radio, keeping the volume low enough so that the music was more background to their conversation. Dorian badly wished it was more distracting.

Dorian cleared his throat. “What I am trying to say is that I have nothing with which to repay you.” 

Bull blinked and turned to look at the mage, taking in the tense line of his jaw, the nervous look in his storm-grey eyes. “You don’t owe me anything. I almost killed you, remember?” Bull smiled, and then when Dorian made eye-contact he closed his only eye in a firm motion.

It was the most obvious and strangest wink Dorian had ever received from a man and he snorted inelegantly in response, his body relaxing against the seat.

“When you put it like that-“ he began, his voice lighter.

“I can put it wherever you like,” Bull cut in, giving another ‘wink’.

Dorian had never rolled his eyes so hard in his life. Nevertheless, he found himself returning the smile.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by HubbaBubbaGumPop.

With the largest chunk of the shopping taken care of, Dorian was able to easily purchase the more mundane fabrics and the bases of the shoes and hats. The masks he would have to get the prop department to cast from the three molds he had managed to dig out of a costume shop clearance bin a few weeks prior.

During his lunch break, he found himself wandering over to where the Bull and his construction crew were installing new sound proof insulation along the walls, gutting all the old windows as well. Dorian had passed by so many construction sites throughout his life (If there was one thing the pot-hole ridden roads of Ferelden could use, it was some Tevinter infrastructure) but he had never sat back and watched the work come together.

“These are going to do wonders for the acoustics,” Dorian commented as Bull finished with one of the window installations. The Qunari grinned, lifting his safety goggles. 

“Know a lot about architecture?” He asked, wiping the dust from his gloved fingers.  

Taking a seat on a metal folding chair, Dorian elegantly crossed one long leg over the other and said, “Part of learning history is studying the types of structures that each civilization or culture produced and why." He unwrapped his spoils of the lobby vending machine and took a bite of the rather bland tomato and cheese sandwich. Oh well, it was only a copper...

Swallowing, he added, “The theaters in Tevinter are the most ancient in the known world and were designed to seat hundreds of thousands. This will maybe fit 500, but at least there’s more protection from the elements.” Bull smirked, placing a hand on his hip in a way that seemed to just accentuate how large they were. Suddenly the sandwich didn't seem so terrible. It at least served as a good distraction.

“Didn’t realize being a history buff could make you an architect as well as a costume designer.” Bull said as he knelt, adjusting a knee brace that Dorian hadn’t noticed the first time he’d talked with the Qunari.

_So many scars and injuries...they can't all be from contract work?_

“You know, I went to the Salceto Theatre once. Saw a show of  _The Maker’s Bride_." Bull paused and shook his head, "It was ok, but the refreshments really  _sucked._  Only one glass of wine for a three hour sitting?”

Dorian chuckled, brushing bread crumbs from his moustache. He had never been overly fond of the Salceto himself. The seating was not ideal during the day when the sun was at its highest point. Everyone off-stage _roasted._  “I didn’t realize you had been to Minrathous. Did you tour through other parts of the Imperium or just the capital?” he asked, curious now. 

“Nah, didn’t really have time. I was there only to pick someone up so I stayed the weekend and then ditched out to Antiva.” Bull grunted as he tightened the wires of the frame and then stood, shaking his leg out. “But we had a good time. Just had to go to the slums to get shitfaced afterwards."

“Ah yes. I have some… _personal_ experience in that.” Dorian blushed, covering his mouth. How many times had Gereon or Mae found him passed out and drunk in some dive bar, humping a random man against a wall or worse in the dingy stall of a bathroom?

Rather than tease, Bull grinned proudly, “See? I was right.  _Rebel_.” He poked Dorian’s chest, smearing some dust onto his teal button-up. Dorian wrinkled his nose, making a point to brush it off as Bull asked, “So, you've been around the Imperium, but what's your favorite  _Ferelden_  dive bar?”

Dorian took another bite to delay his answer (he was rather quickly running out of sandwich). Bull didn't take the excuse though and waited patiently for him to awkwardly chew around the stale bread. Finally he mumbled, “ _Tainted Warden_ …” 

Bull’s single eye lit up and he laughed, a big deep bellyful. “Aw shit! Me and my boys  _love_  the Warden. We should all go sometime when the building isn’t crumbling to pieces.” He touched Dorian’s shoulder and this time Dorian found himself not minding the dust it left, “How about it? When you’re not so swamped, of course.”

Dorian scrunched his now empty sandwich wrapper up in his palm as he looked at the massive man covered in bits of wall and sweat. “I’ll consider it, but I hope you understand that you’ll be waiting for quite some time.”

_Don't make promises you can't hope to keep._

Instead of being diswayed, the Bull pulled his hammer of his tool belt and said, “Heh, it’ll be worth the wait." He closed his eye again and Dorian heaved a massive sigh.

“Stop doing that  _wink_. It’s not subtle.”

“Never said I wanted it to be,” Bull retorted as he turned back to the window and bent down low, the curve of his legs and arse outlined by the khaki-green denim. Dorian licked his lips and unabashedly stared.

_Subtle indeed…_

* * *

 

The measurements were done that afternoon so all that was left was to wash and dry the fabrics that didn’t need tender care. Unfortunately, there was no washer and dryer within the theater so Dorian ended up folding everything up and taking it to the bus stop to wash at home (better than waiting at a laundromat for hours).

Thankfully it wasn’t raining this time around.

“Hey Dorian.”

Dorian whipped his head around, almost dropping the bundles in his arms. He caught sight of a familiar red truck parked off to the side, the window rolled down so the Bull could wave him over. “Need a ride?” the Qunari asked, leaning on the side of the door. 

“You've already apologized for nearly killing me," Dorian reminded, approaching the vehicle slowly. The Bull shrugged.

"You don't have to if you don't want, but there ain't no strings attached in my truck, Dorian." He stepped out walking over to the passenger's side to open the door. "I like talking to you. I'd like to think the feeling is mutual."

Staring at the other man holding the door open like he was a prince about to ascend the steps of a carriage, Dorian exhaled. "I suppose...if you’re willing to accommodate.” He gathered the fabric up and walked over to the door. Bull took the bundles and got them safely into the back as Dorian got settled and buckled up. 

“Alright, now where to?” Bull asked, getting back into the driver's side and putting the truck into gear as he handed Dorian his phone. Dorian paused, his fingers settling over the touchpad.

_Not the first time bringing a practical stranger back home._

“Do you not have plans with friends tonight?" he asked as he typed the address to his apartment into the GPS. Bull gunned the engine and pulled out of the parking lot.

"I do actually. Gonna help out a mage who is gonna make the prettiest damn dresses Denerim's ever seen," he said, turning to look at Dorian as he drove. "Sounds like a real fun night to me!"

When they got to the mage’s complex, Dorian struggled to hold the bundle of fabrics up as he dug for his apartment key. The Bull had offered to take them, but Dorian had insisted. He managed to jam his key into the lock and force the door open. Panting, Dorian gestured for the Bull to come inside, a weak but genuine smile on his face. The apartment was fairly small and given the dilapidated state of the neighborhood it was clear that whatever money Dorian had been born into had been left at the Tevinter border.

The first thing Bull noticed besides the mess was the single wooden bookshelf was completely overcrowded with tomes and the rest of the collection was stacked up in piles along the walls, completely obscuring the tacky yellowing wallpaper.

“Shoes off please and pardon the mess, I haven’t had guests in some time.” Dorian lifted his chin to hide his embarrassment as he moved a week-old carton of takeout curry into the trash to make room for his bag. “Um, just have a seat and I’ll get this sorted.”

There wasn’t exactly anywhere to sit outside of a lumpy fold out couch in the middle of the room laden with more books. The single room off to the side was full of fabric, several sewing machines and references pinned to the coffee-stained ironing board. A solitary chair sat in front of the machines. With a wave of the mage’s hand, the books were moved to the coffee table and a fold out chair was pulled from the closet.

Dorian took the various fabrics and separated them by material and then by color, putting them into separate laundry bags. “These will all need to be washed. In the meantime, I can at least work on the boot covers.” He glanced to Bull. “Would you like any coffee? I don’t have any here, but there’s a decent place down the street inside the library." He wiped the sweat that had drenched his brow in all his fretting, "I can pick some up.”

Bull shook his head, gently pushing Dorian down to sit. “I’ll go out and grab you some. You’re going to need it with all this.” He gestured to the bundles of fabric that were piled in front of the sewing machine in the bedroom. 

“I’ve pulled more all-nighters than you know. That’s what the Maker invented concealer for.” Dorian mimed applying makeup under his eyes and pulled off his leather jacket, hanging it onto a small coat-rack.

"Anything specific you want me to grab?" Bull asked, zipping up his own jacket.

Dorian nodded and grabbed him by the arm. Before Bull could protest, he forced a few silvers in his fingers, “Caramel latte with six shots. If Dagna is there, just tell her it’s for me.”

“Got it, big guy. You just get situated here and I’ll come back with your fix.” Bull ruffled Dorian’s hair and Dorian sputtered a bit before he left, heading out to the library they had passed a few blocks down.

Fixing his hair, Dorian stared at the door where a Qunari he had only met a few days before had left to go and get him coffee.

No strings attached.

_"Fasta vass..."_

* * *

 

When Bull got back to the apartment, Netflix was on, playing some old movie in Tevene and he could hear the whirr of a sewing machine. The Bull entered quietly and locked the door behind him, holding the coffee cups printed with  _The Nug Wrangler Cafe_  in swooping letters and the bag of cake pops as he toed off his shoes. Stacking them next to Dorian’s boots, he entered the bedroom/crafts room where a familiar voice swore in three different languages. Dorian had changed out of his normal skinny jeans and tight graphic t-shirt and was now lounging in a silky robe and some shorts. His hair was washed and still damp, pinned back to his scalp by bobby pins as he worked over the machine, glasses perched on the bridge of his nose.

He didn’t even look up as the Bull entered, using magic to rethread the bobbin and adjust the tension on his machine. “Thirsty, big guy?” he asked, enjoying the way the light picked up the color of Dorian's eyes.

Dorian dropped his pincushion and swore again, “Bull! I didn’t hear you come in.” He scooped up his tools and stared pointedly at the bag in his hand, “What else did you get?”

Grinning, the Bull opened the bag and pulled out two cake pops shaped like nugs, one black and one hot pink. Dorian rolled his eyes when he was offered one, but he grudging accepted the black pop along with his coffee. “You are a very strange man, Bull.” He inhaled the bitter aroma of his drink and added, “But thank you.”

“What? I saw them and thought they were cute. Almost too cute too eat.” Bull took a bite and chewed. “Almost,” he added through a mouthful of cake. Dorian made a face and just took a drink of his coffee, sagging into his chair.

“I just hope these stitches hold. Void-damned machine keeps jamming,” He nibbled on the cake pop and took another sip of his coffee. “What coffee did you get?” he asked, gesturing toward Bull’s cup.

Bull popped the lid off, exposing a hint of melted whipped cream. “Just hot chocolate. I pretty much lost the taste for coffee back on Seheron.” He took a long sip, licking the cream from the rim.

That got Dorian's attention. “You were on Seheron?” he asked, his grey eyes wide. Bull nodded and shrugged as if being in one of the most long-lived and violent struggles of the modern era was just as casual affair.

“I was there for about a decade. Got decommissioned after I turned myself in for reeducation. Tamassrans thought I wasn’t stable enough for a war zone.” Bull finished off the cake pop and tossed the stick into the empty paper bag, crunching it. “Been bouncing between Orlais and Ferelden for the last few years, but figured Denerim was a nice place to settle for a while.” He sipped his hot chocolate and added, “Been here for the last three years or so."

Dorian was quiet, stroking the rim of his cup with one thumb. “I'm surprised you don't hate me then if you fought on Seheron. Maker only knows what you saw of my country men."

“You burning down orphanages and sacrificing kids with blood magic?" Bull asked with a raised brow. When Dorian gave him a pointed look, the Qunari just said, "Then I've got no issue with you.” Bull glanced to the work that Dorian had done so far and touched the finished seams, looking for a new subject. "You know, Krem might be able to help with some of this. His folks were tailors back in Tevinter.”

“I can handle my own work,” Dorian said through a mouthful of cake. The Bull couldn’t help but think it was kind of cute the way the crumbs got stuck in his moustache. He had to resist the urge to touch. “Besides, you and your boys need to focus on fixing the building. No stage, no show.”

Bull laughed, taking a long sip of his hot chocolate. “Don’t worry, big guy. It’ll be the best damn stage you’ve ever seen when we’re done. Rocky was installing the new floorboards just as we were leaving today."

Dorian tossed the pop stick into the overflowing bin of trash and turned back to his machine, “Why do you call me that?”

“What, 'big guy'?" Bull asked, watching as Dorian nodded. "Have you seen yourself? You’re pretty damn tall.” Bull emptied his cup with a smack of his lips and gestured to the Vint’s long legs draped under the fabric of his robe. Long  _attractive_  fucking legs. 

“Not compared to you,” Dorian said as he restarted his machine, pressing the foot down to the edge of the fabric, “You’ve got a head on me never mind those horns.” He began to close the seam, the light of the machine glinting of the lacquer of his nails. “And the rest of you is rather large as well.” 

Well if that wasn't a come-on than he had three horns.

 “Yeah, I got a big ol’ rack, but that’s being Qunari for you. If you were a Qunari, you’d be taller than me.” Bull watched as the machine whirred, Dorian moving the fabric slowly to create a nice tight stitch. “I can call you something else if you’d prefer.”

Dorian took his foot off the fabric and with his finger, ran a line down the stitchwork. Steam erupted from his hands and the heat fogged Dorian's glasses. It was way hotter than it had any right to be. “Guess that’s why I didn’t see an iron in here. Maybe instead of big guy I should start calling you  _Ataashi_.”

“And what does that mean, exactly?” Dorian asked with a skeptically raised brow, snipping the dangling threads and folding the length of fabric. “Is it Qunlat for the ‘most handsome man I’ve ever laid eyes on’?”

“Eh, something like that,” Bull said as he leaned back in the chair, his fingers clenching into the meat of his palms. “So how much work do you have left?”

“Quite a bit, but it will get done. I have a few assistants on hand who are working on the costumes for extras. I’m just trying to get some of the smaller things off my plate. Although I am not supposed to be working this much ‘off the clock’ so to speak.” Dorian grabbed his pincushion and yanked a few needles out, setting the seam precisely. Bull’s eye followed his fingers as he worked, taking in the tiny details like the chipped polish on his nails, the small calluses against the heel of his hand. Suddenly Dorian’s hands stopped and Bull glanced to Dorian’s face.

The mage looked melancholy as he put down the fabric and picked up his coffee, taking a long thoughtful sip. “You know, the last time I had company while I burned the midnight oil was when I was back in Tevinter…” he gave a smile that didn’t come close to reaching his eyes. “Sorry, wool-gathering.” He made a swirling motion with his hand and went back to setting the pins.

“You miss it?” Bull asked, noting the sad slump of Dorian's spine. “The thing I miss the most from Par Vollen are the violet chilies. Kind of an expensive import, though.”

Dorian shook his head, “Yes and no. I miss the weather and the beaches.” He hummed thoughtfully. “I studied in Minrathous, but I hail from Qarinus originally. The best vineyards in the Imperium.” He lifted his chin, reciting the last line with an overly dramatic flourish. “The food is also something I’ve grown homesick for. I never thought it was possible to make meat and potatoes dull, but here we are. In Ferelden. Where the concept of cooking food is boiled down to…well,  _boiling._ ”

He placed the new strip of fabric under the foot of the machine and used magic to reset the tension, making the string go taunt. “I think I miss my friends more than I expected to.” He paused, tapping the side of his coffee cup. “I always considered myself a pariah of sorts, a lone wolf who tolerated the masses but did not mingle among them.” He chuckled and shook his head.

“Even the non-social types can get lonely.” Bull reached out gently touching Dorian’s shoulder. He felt the way the other man leaned into the touch, enjoying the warmth and comfort but still holding back. “If your place ever gets too small, you can hit me up.” He squeezed and felt Dorian relax against his grip.

“Ah well, your company is surprisingly tolerable.” Dorian said with a slight haughty lilt to his tone. “You stink of drywall and sweat, but no one is perfect.”

Bull gave him a crooked grin, removing his hand and leaning forward. “Oh? Maybe you should let me borrow some of that fancy perfume you’re sporting.” He inhaled, "Make me smell like a jasmine garden."

Dorian huffed, “It’s  _cologne_  and I would need an entire bottle’s worth to cover just one of your armpits.”  He gestured to Bull’s broad chest, “Never mind all the rest.”

A deep rumbling laugh left the Bull’s chest and he lifted his massive arms, exposing and extending the length of his torso. Dorian's eyes went wide and Bull enjoyed the way the other man gawked. “Guess you’ll just have to get used to it.”

“You might need to come around more often then,” Dorian slipped out, his hands freezing in place as if he only just realized exactly what he had offered.

“That can be arranged,” Bull murmured, watching as Dorian began to sew, his lips pursed and pupils dilated.

Flustered and slightly aroused was a _good_ look on him.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Art by HubbaBubbaGumPop.

“Just _try_ it. You can’t say it ain’t any good if you haven’t even done it,” Sera groaned, soldering an LED to the handle of a staff. She tested the battery, grinning when the crystal of the prop glowed like it was lit by magelight. 

Heaving a sigh, Dorian muttered, “I have actually tried dating apps back in the Imperium. They were little more than glorified booty-calls.” He frowned, ripping out an uneven seam with a swift cut that almost tore the fabric out with it. He winced, being more delicate with the next loop.

Sera snorted and lowered her soldering gun, swinging her legs back and forth on top of her work-table. “Oh, too good for a little rough and tumble then?” She crudely jammed her index finger into a circle she made with her opposite hand until Dorian rolled his eyes and groaned.

Putting down the seam-ripper, Dorian ran a hand back through his hair, smearing product on his hand. “Sera…I’m 32 years old. I’m not some _teenager_  looking to get an itch scratched.” He wiped his hand on rag and went back to pulling the torn strings, letting them fall to the floor in tatters. “I’m rather interested in the long game," he added, his gaze going soft as he straightened the cloth.

“Well while you’re looking for _Mister Right,_ you could least get some action. Might make those britches of yours less fussy.” She thrust her hips back and forth, holding the staff as a pole out in front of her. Behind them, Theater Director de Fer stepped up onto the landing, talking with the Dwarven script-writer in hushed tones. Vivienne glanced up during Sera’s thrusting and turned away in disgust. Sera stopped thrusting and spat a raspberry at her, “I’m thinking of sneakin’ a big ol' pile of dog shite into her office. She deserves it after all this crap she's given us about deadlines.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow and pursed his lips. “You’re going to get us both fired,” he whispered, turning his face to hide a small grin. He liked Vivienne well enough, but it was fun to see her skirts ruffled…Sera was probably the expert in that line of work.

But perhaps Sera was right. Maybe for a time, he could just…play the role.

Dorian’s phone buzzed, interrupting his thoughts. He unlocked it and read the text, a small smile creeping onto his face.

**Out frnt, hawt stuf.**

 Sera poked her head around his shoulder. “Going home with Bull again?” She asked with a raised eyebrow as Dorian grabbed his things, shoving what he could into his messenger bag. He stopped, turning to look at the elf as she twirled the tubing of the pump she had been waterproofing for a bloody stabbing sequence at the climax of the play.

“Perhaps,” he said, his tone flat even as he felt himself withdrawing inward, “Why do you ask?”

Sera shrugged, “You two been gettin’ on a lot is all. I mean, I don’t blame you. If there was a girl that big with horns like that, woof!” She licked her lips and slapped her own butt. “I’d climb that like a frickin’ tree!"

Dorian sighed and shook his head, feeling his throat grow tight. “We are not having this discussion,” he said firmly, pulling on his jacket and adjusting the sleeves. Sera just cackled as he dragged his bag over one shoulder, Bull’s text still lit up on his screen.

“Alright, _alright,_ don’t get your fancy Vinty panties in a twist. I’ll lay off. I just wanted to know why you two aren’t a thing.”

_What kind of thing?_

Dorian turned away, his fingers clenching around the strap of his bag. He forced a barking laugh and lifted his chin, “Please, Sera. Panties are so  _pedestrian._  I’ve always been more partial to thongs."

* * *

 

Sera’s words haunted him for the next few days during his commute from work to his apartment. The Qunari didn’t always hang around while Dorian sewed, sometimes the Bull went out with his boys or into Qun-Town, but the Qunari could always be counted on to stay in contact even if it was just through emoji-filled text messages.

It reminded him of studying with Felix back in Qarinus. So many late nights spent pouring over books in Felix’ family estate. Coffee accidentally staining the pages of manuscripts older than Dorian’s entire lineage when they passed out in front of the Alexius’ foyer.

 “You know, Ferelden comedies aren’t that bad. The effects are kinda cheap, but they’ve got good dry humour,” the Bull said, his hand mashing through a tupperware container of popcorn (none of the bowls were clean). He took up most of the space on Dorian's couch, but the mage hardly minded having his thigh pressed to Bull's. The warmth was...nice.

Dorian just shrugged and rubbed at his eyes from under his glasses, yawning as he picked up the gloves he had been hand-stitching for the last two hours, putting them on the side table. “They are alright. Better than Orlesian dramas at least.”

The Bull grinned, “Oh you don’t like all the scenery chewing?  _Pierre, pourquoi? Parce que je t'aime, Marie. Oh Pierre!_ ” he said, waving his arm over his head, accidentally knocking into the dangling cord for the ceiling fan.

Dorian covered his mouth, hiding his decidedly unmanly fit of giggles, “Your Orlesian is fairly good. How many other languages did you study?”

Bull laid back against the couch, sprawling his massive arms along the backboard. “Eh, back in Par Vollen, we had basic education in the most common stuff. Common was my preferred, but Orlesian was easy enough. Same with Tevene and Antivan. Same sentence structure and similar spelling for most of the vocab.” Dorian's eyes traced the curve of the other man's mouth as he spoke.

“Speak some Tevene for me then. I’ll be the judge of your accent.” Dorian said, feeling rather bold as he snapped his fingers expectantly. Bull licked his lips, giving the mage an obvious once over.

“ _Ego barba vestra_.” Bull’s Tevene was smooth in his pronunciation, but his accent was definitely rough. But the low husky voice had Dorian shivering nevertheless. “ _Et requiem tibi_.”

Swallowing thickly, Dorian offered the Bull a shy smile, badly wishing that he was wearing jeans rather than loose sweatpants. “Not many can pull off this style. They’ll just look like unwashed hipsters.” He gestured to his face with a flourish of his fingers. “It takes a strong profile to make the old fashions look modern.”

Bull nodded in agreement and popped a few kernels into his mouth. “If only the rest of us were so blessed,” he said, placing the tupperware on the coffee table, nudging a few coupons to  _Andraste’s Noodles_  (“So heavenly, you’ll swear by the Maker”) out of the way.

“You’re not completely unfortunate looking,” Dorian quipped, putting his spare needles into the pincushion and digging his phone out of the pile of leftover fabric. “With a good shave, some decent pants,” he paused, giving a pointed look to the Bull’s jeans which were spattered in old paint stains and shredded terribly along the hemline, “And a shirt that fits, you might actually be somewhat attractive.”

 _Oh_   _dear…_

He pretended to text as Bull stared at him. It honestly was a bit unnerving, waiting to see what the Bull’s response was. It wasn’t as if this was Dorian’s first rodeo, but with the Bull it was harder to know exactly what buttons to push. He flirted and was kind, but there had been plenty of men who were all that and more right up until the exact moment that they _weren’t._

Suddenly there was a firm hand on the top of his thigh, pulling Dorian from his thoughts. Bull leaned down, gently pushing the phone away, “You know, Dorian, it might just be easier if you just tell me what you want." He paused, looking over Dorian's face as if he was searching for something. "I’ve got an idea, but I’d rather be sure.”

Dorian licked his lips, feeling extremely nervous. “Don’t want to overdo it?” he asked, looking at the Bull who was running his palm up and down Dorian's leg, squeezing at the thickest crest of muscle.

“Yeah, something like that,” Bull purred, leaning in so that his lips brushed the pierced shell of Dorian’s ear. “Doesn’t have to be more than this. Two friends hanging out watching Netflix. Could be us doin’ more.” He squeeze Dorian again and the mage exhaled heatedly.

_Maker his hands are so large._

“Not going to simply ravish me like a brute?” Dorian asked, his heart hammering in his chest as he warred with himself. He wanted Bull, Bull wanted him, but was...was it worth possibly ruining everything up until now?

Bull paused, frowning for a moment before his eyes lowered to Dorian's mouth. “If you want that, can do. That what you want, Dorian?” 

_Fake it till you make it._

 “Rather forward, don’t you think?” Dorian said, not pulling away from the Bull’s touch, his eyes half-lidded as he looked over the other man's immense body. “You think that I’m interested-“

“If you’re not, I can stop,” Bull interrupted, his tone firm. Dorian froze as the other man slowly dragged his hand away. Instinctively, he grabbed it, placing it right back where it was. The Bull raised an eyebrow and smirked. “I thought I pegged you right,” he purred, his smile warm and knowing. Strangely trusting.

_Take a bow._

The Bull pressed his mouth to the curve of Dorian's throat, his breath hot and musky over his pulse point. “Alright, where do you want me,  _big guy?_ ”

_Curtains._

“All over my person if you please?” Dorian said, placing his hand on Bull’s chest, splaying his fingers over the man’s broad sternum. Bull's mouth closed over his throat and a big hand guided him down to the couch cushions. 

Dorian closed his eyes.

_Applause._

* * *

 

The next morning, Dorian groaned as his work alarm blared from his smart phone. His back ached from sleeping on the couch so he gingerly rose, turning the device off and tossing it to the floor with a “ _whump_ ”. From a brief glance, he could see that the Bull was gone, which was both disappointing and not surprising after a quite literal “Netflix and Chill” night. Mussing his hair, Dorian slid on his underwear and picked up the used condoms from the floor. On weak legs, he stumbled into the bathroom, tossing them into the garbage bin.

From the mirror, he could see small bruises lining his collarbone, marks that he had enthusiastically encouraged the night before. He touched over them and shivered before washing his face and brushing his teeth.

_What did you expect?_

He sighed heavily as he stared his reflection down accusingly. It had been good. He had _wanted_ it.

Spitting into the sink, he heard the distinct sound of the lock turning. He froze and wiped his mouth, his fingers sparking with electricity as he entered the hallway. Who would try to break into his apartment at 7AM?

As he turned the corner, he saw a large familiar frame setting a takeaway bag from the  _Wrangler_  on the kitchen counter. Bull whistled to himself as he unpacked the food, fully clothed and looking as if he had just come back from winning the local lottery. Dorian let his magic dissipate, confusion overriding his panic. “Bull, what are you  _doing?_ ”

The Bull turned, half a bagel slice in his mouth. He brightened and gestured to the bags with a plastic knife. "Breakfast? Dagna says hi by the way,” he took out the bagel and smeared some more cream cheese over the other half. “You hungry?”

Dorian’s stomach rumbled and he approached with caution, one eyebrow arched as he sidled up to the Qunari. Bull put the two bagel halves together like a sandwich and added, “I didn’t know which you’d prefer so I got a few plain, some everything,” he paused and picked up a speckled bagel, “I love the blueberry ones myself.” He grinned and then with his free hand, tousled Dorian’s bedhead. The affectionate gesture had the mage inwardly reeling. 

“I suppose everything is fine,” Dorian said, unable to process what was happening. He swallowed and tugged at the hemline of his shirt.

“Cream cheese, butter, or jam?” Bull asked. “Oh, I also got coffee. It’s on the table.” Dorian turned, his gaze narrowing to the single steaming cup waiting on a pink coaster. A coaster? Since when did he had _coasters?_

“Butter… please,” he said, remembering his manners as he reentered the living room and settled on the lumpy couch. Picking up the drink, he stared at the black TV screen and popped off the top of the cup. The coffee was blissfully perfect and he had inhaled half of it by the time the Bull came back, two bagels laid out on paper plates.

Bull sat next to him and handed him the plate with two halves of an everything bagel, smothered in pates of butter. “Eat up, big guy. Got a long day of work ahead."

Dorian took the plate and placed it in his lap, staring at it for a moment before looking back to Bull. The Bull was already stuffing his face, blueberry cream cheese smeared on his upper lip. After a time, he finally found the words in the back of his throat. It felt drier than the Anderfels as he croaked, "I didn’t expect you to come back." He took a bite of the bagel, as if eating could make the ache he was feeling in his chest go away.

Bull paused and turned to look at him, his scarred face crinkled with concern. “Just because we had a good time last night doesn’t mean we’re no longer friends, Dorian.” He put a large hand on the mage’s shoulder, that solid weight such a comfort, such a _luxury._ “You did have a good time, right?”

Nodding, Dorian said, “I did. I enjoyed it.” He took another bite to delay.

The Qunari sighed, “But…?” he asked, ever patient and ever knowing. There was no distracting Bull.

Swallowing the lump of dough that suddenly seemed so thick and heavy in his throat, Dorian rasped, “I expected you to  _leave._ ”

**_“Why you two aren’t you a thing?”_ **

“Do you want me to leave?”

The question made Dorian nearly drop his breakfast. Bull steadied his hands and it was then that he realized he was shaking a bit.

_Please don’t make me hope._

He put down the bagel onto the bag, crinkling the paper. Dorian sighed and dragged his hand down the side of his face. “I’m sorry. I’m making this so terribly complicated, aren’t I?”

A warm hand wrapped around the base of his spine holding him firmly. “Nah, Tevinter got to you. Same shit happened to Krem.” Bull kissed his cheek which made Dorian stiffen in surprise. “You’re a good guy, Dorian. I’d like to continue as long as it’s alright with you.”

There had been many men who propositioned him, both in and out of Tevinter. It was rare to have the same partner more than once, something Dorian had grudgingly accepted for most of his teenage years until he decided that wanting more, demanding more was not a _crime._

“I want to continue,” he said softly, touching the other man’s hand as he closed his eyes. "Please."

 


	5. Chapter 5

“Having trouble with the chainstitching, Altus?”

Dorian glanced up from his worktable to see Krem weaving through the extras changing into their costumes for the first time. “I might be…” he said, lowering his needle. It wasn’t unusual for Bull or one of his boys to come back every now and then to run some tests on the new electrical and plumbing at Vivienne’s instance in preparation for grand opening, but it was rare for them to come into the backstage area. “Is there something I can help you with, Cremisius?”

Krem snorted and placed a box on the table. “Chief said you’re stuck here working late, so he made cupcakes. He doesn’t like to see people on a job going hungry.”

Sure enough, Dorian opened the lid of the box to find a set of bright pink cupcakes with winky faces iced on top. They smelled delicious, but he closed the box and pushed them away from his delicate fabrics out of principle. “I didn’t know the Bull was so skilled with mixing materials other than cement.”

Krem just crossed his arms over his chest, his gaze flickering back to Dorian’s work. “The Chief’s good with a lot of things. You clearly aren’t if those knots are any indication.” His tone was harsher than necessary and it had Dorian’s spine tingling. 

Well Dorian had always preferred machine work. It was easy to just set the tension with a flick of his wrist and just whir away a few hours. His hands were hardly clumsy, but he lacked the dexterity that his assistants had when it came to the more intricate work. “Bull said your family were tailors?” he said, holding up the fabric as a distraction. Krem took it into his hands and picked up the needle, handling it was practiced ease.

“Yeah.” He tightened the threadwork and easily stabbed the needle back and forth through the cloth. “Still do some work selling homemade binders online. Easy money as far as I’m concerned.”

“Binders?” Dorian paused and looked Krem up and down. He couldn’t see any lines through the man’s tank top.

“It’s a built in.” Krem said, rolling his eyes a bit. He flipped the cloth to show Dorian his work and he stared unabashedly. “See? You have to keep the thread tight but not straining so you get those nice circles.”

Dorian took the fabric back and raised an eyebrow. Indeed, Krem’s work looked far better than his previous attempts. “Would you be willing to assist me?” he asked, hesitation peppering his voice. There was just something about the way that Krem stared at him almost as if in disapproval.

Krem gave him a blank look and crossed his arms over his chest. “Depends. What’s in it for me?”

A contract worker to the end. Dorian sighed and said, “I don’t know, I’ll buy you a few drinks when this is all done?” One could never go wrong with alcohol, right?

Krem hummed under his breath and said, “How ‘bout you buy the Charger’s a few rounds the next meet up at the Warden?”

Swallowing, Dorian said, “That would be a bit of a stretch, even for me.” However when Krem moved to turn on his heel, he stood and grabbed the other man by the wrist, “But I’m sure that Cabot won’t mind if I open up a tab…”

There was a pause between them where Dorian thought for sure that Krem was going leave anyway, but finally the other man smirked and nodded. “Alright, Altus. You don’t turn out though and I’m gonna rip out every single stitch myself.”

“I suppose that is fair,” Dorian muttered, wondering how much kowtowing he would have to do to get the dwarf to agree to give him such a big tab.

“That and if you hurt the Chief, I’m gonna drop kick you into the stage.”

Dorian paused, glancing up with wide eyes as Krem sat down on the bench beside him and took up another swatch of fabric. Rather than follow up on his very direct threat, the other man just held out his hand and said, “You gonna pass the pin cushion or just stare at it all day?”

Nodding, Dorian handed over the blue pincushion and watched as Krem, a man who he had seen swing a sledgehammer hard enough to take down an entire wall single-handedly, created fine circles smaller than his thumbnail in silken thread.

His own hands went back into motion, following Krem’s lead. However, the only thing he could focus on was the fact that he had just gotten the shovel talk from his fuck-buddy’s closest friend.

_It’s not that serious…is it?_

* * *

When Dorian packed up for the day long after Krem had departed, he opened his phone to find a short text from Bull.

**@tama’s 2nite. U hav a rid?**

Dorian smiled and sent back, “I’ll be fine with the bus.” He sighed and pulled the sling of his bag over his chest, heading out to the entrance. The building had really come together, the new balcony bannister created a beautiful frame for the entire auditorium and the stage was just a work of art.

In a few weeks, the actors would march onto those gleaming floorboards in the costumes he had sweated, cried, and bled over to finish.

All of _Denerim_ would see that work.

He smiled to himself as he walked to the empty bus stop. He leaned against the awning and glanced over the route map. The number 8 would take him home…but the 11 went through to Qun-Town.

Licking his lips, he checked his phone again.

**C u tmrw**

**],3**

Dorian stared at the text until his screen went black. Without replying, he pocketed his phone and waited patiently.

The 11 was almost entirely full when it arrived, forcing Dorian to squeeze past several burly women to go and stand by the driver. He took hold of the pole by the seat and looked around, trying to ignore the fact that his face was at armpit level for most of the people around him. Between the standing people, he could make out a few Qunari kids passing around some trading cards while squabbling in Qunlat. Sitting at his side was nurse with long ram horns in full scrub attire who occasionally glanced up at him while she chatted on the phone.

There were definitely more than a few curious stares thrown his way, but he just straightened up and held onto the bar as the doors closed. The vehicle began to move and no one else gave him a second thought.

Once the bus came to its final stop, Dorian got off and caught sight of a curry cart at the street corner. The spicy scent wafted over him, making his belly rumble and he found himself drawn to the portly man with tiny horns, digging into his bag for his purse. The Qunari didn’t speak a word of Common, but somehow Dorian managed to trade a few coppers for an unknown meat mixed with some of the fluffiest rice he had ever seen. He inhaled the fragrant aroma and smiled, nodding to the man as he took the plastic bag. “Do you know where Tama’s Shop is?” he asked, wishing he had tried to learn at least the basics of Qunlat.

The curry cart owner frowned in confusion, to which Dorian began to mime sewing. His dark eyes twinkled with recognition and he pointed to the end of the block and then to the left. Dorian sighed and gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you,” he said, knowing that the intent of his message was received as he waved the man off.

Sure enough, Tama’s shop was waiting on the left hand side of the street. Dorian sighed with relief and pushed open the door, the bell tinkling above his head. A few customers sipped tea as they browsed the linens, mostly Qunari women, but a few elves as well. No sign of Bull, but Tama was discussing the sale of a bright red fabric with two elves at the register. She noticed Dorian and smiled. “Ashkaari, we have another guest,” she called in Common.

From the backroom, Dorian heard a grunt and “Coming, Tama!”

There was a few moments of silence and then Bull emerged from the curtained off room, holding a tea tray. “ _Shanedan!_ Please, take some tea and look a-“ Bull paused, seeing Dorian. “Oh…hey big guy. Didn’t expect you here.” He took one of the tiny cups and offered it. Dorian accepted and smiled.

“I wanted to surprise you.” He held up the curry. “And I wanted to be the one who brought sustenance for once.” He glanced back to Tama. “How long until your next break?”

“I can take a few minutes to eat.” He nodded to Tama who just waved him off and Bull gestured for Dorian to follow him into the back.

Behind the main store, the stock room was even more crowded with fabrics still wrapped in plastic or folded in cardboard boxes. There was a nice wooden desk through and some metal filing cabinets along with some thick sturdy looking chairs. Bull sat down and Dorian took the other seat, placing the bag down on the desk. “I don’t really know what any of this is, but it smelled good.”

Bull pulled off the lids and grinned, “It’s _qalaba_. You get this from Tank’s stand?” He took one of the spoons and dug into the still steaming rice.

Taking his own portion, Dorian shrugged, “I don’t know. He didn’t speak Common.” He chewed on a particularly fatty piece of meat and swallowed. It went down like melted butter. “That is…very tender.”

Bull chuckled. “Yeah. Good stuff, right?” He took another spoonful and licked the spice from his lips. “You didn’t have to come all the way down here. I know you got a load of work to get done.”

_I had to, Krem threatened to kill me over you._

“I can take a night off,” Dorian said with a huff, his nose starting to run from the spice. Bull grinned and pulled out his hanky, (pink of course) and offered it. Dorian took it and wiped his face, panting as he paced himself. “Well now…that’s the first real taste I’ve had since coming to this city.”

Bull leaned back in his chair, adjusting the straps of his purple work apron. “If you like that, we should try the Rivaini place Downtown. Skinner and Dalish went last week and said it was bomb.” He exhaled and put the carton down on the desk.

“Sounds an awful lot like a date,” Dorian said, stirring the contents of his own container.

“Kinda is,” Bull said with another one of his signature ‘winks’. “I’m not hearing a no.”

Dorian blushed, feigning more heat from the curry. “Well, I suppose it would be kind to grant you the pleasure of my company for an evening.” He couldn’t bring himself to refuse. How could he when Bull looked at him like that?

“What’d I do to get the pleasure of your company now then?” Bull asked, grinning as he folded his hands over his broad stomach. Dorian shrugged, his chest warm and heavy.

“I was feeling charitable is all. Now finish your dinner. You still have a shop to tend to, _Ashkaari._ ” He drawled out the syllables, laughing as Bull winced at his pronunciation.

_Please don’t hate me for getting attached._

* * *

After they finished their curry, Bull cleaned up the boxes and told Dorian to wait by the counter. “I’ll be off in thirty minutes and then I can take you home, big guy.” He touched the mage’s shoulder. “Just gotta help Tama close up for the night.”

Dorian nodded and headed back out into the main shop. Most of the customers had gone and Tama was counting money at the till. She smiled softly as Dorian approached and said, “How did you like the fabrics?”

Realizing she meant his previous purchases, he began going into how he had turned all that silk into amazingly pleated skirts and bodices, taking out his phone to show her some of the more completed WIPs.

Eventually Bull came back in, his face slightly sweaty from exertion. “Any returns?” he asked. Tama nodded and pulled up a thick blanket of pink silk. It was a few shades darker than nugskin and shined brighter than Dawnstone. “Awful pretty. They say why they didn’t want it?” Bull asked as he stroked over the fabric.

“Not the right tone,” Tama said with a shrug, “I’ll put it away, _Ashkaari_. Your _Kadan_ is waiting.”

Dorian raised an eyebrow at the unfamiliar word and turned to Bull for an explanation. The other man just sighed and nodded, leaning in to kiss Tama’s brow. “Ok. I’ll see you on Friday. Get home safe, Tama.” He gestured to Dorian, “Just let me get my keys and we can head out, ok?”

Bull went back into the stockroom and Dorian frowned, staring at the fabric as Tama folded it into a neat perfect square. “That fabric…it’s for sale?”

She nodded and said, “It’s a return, so there’s a discount. 20 silver per yard.”

He pulled out his purse, “I’ll only need 1.”


	6. Chapter 6

 

Bull remained silent as he observed Sera leaning over the counter of _The Nug Wrangler_ , her eyes locked onto Dagna’s biceps as the small dwarf lifted a tray of muffins as long as she was tall and settled them into the glass display, the last batch of the evening. Dagna looked up to catch Sera's gaze and smiled. The Bull almost laughed as he watcher her pointy ears turn bright red.

“Come here often?” he asked, as he sat down next to Sera, his sudden presence making her jump about a foot from her stool.

“Shite, Bull! How’d you get to be so quiet-like yeah?” She grabbed her stool and glanced back to Dagna who was already working on another customer's order. She sighed heavily and turned back to Bull, looking him over, “Pretty far across town for you, ain’t it?”

The Bull just grinned and gestured to the receipt in his hand. “Dorian’s working late again tonight. Figured I’d grab him his drug of choice.”

Sera cackled. "Pretty sure he’ll bleed creamer if you poke him with somethin’ sharp.” She mimed stabbing the air with a straw wrapper.

Shrugging, Bull grinned. "I dunno, I've poked him _plenty_ and that ain't the kinda cream that comes out.” Oh now that one would get Dorian embarrassed. He'd still probably laugh though.

“Wot!?” Sera rounded on Bull, hands now flat on the counter. “You and fussy-britches finally shagged?” When he nodded and held up three fingers to indicate the amount (so far), she cackled and shook her head. "Dorian is such a dirty liar!" She poked his chest and added, "For the record, I totally called it. Knew he had a thing for you."

"Well, I’d like to say it’s more than just fuckin’, but it’s his call.” Tama had called Dorian his _Kadan_...and man had that been something to mull over. A man he'd known for three months and been messing around with for just a few weeks. 

_Kadan...shit._

Dagna brought out Dorian's usual and he pulled a few silvers from his pocket, dropping them into the tip jar. “If it stays like this, that’s fine by me," the words felt heavy and false in his mouth, but he knew he'd do what he had to. He'd been a long term fuck-buddy before. Sex was good, almost always was when everyone knew what they wanted and how to ask for it. Dorian was getting better with the asking bit. 

“Sure you’re _fine_ with it, that’s why you’re bringing him coffee and cupcakes.” Sera said with a huff, her fingers tracing smears in the counter as she kicked out with her thin legs. “Such _bollocks._ Wish I had someone doin’ nice things for me like that.”

Bull stood, taking the steaming cup. “Hey, I respect boundaries.” Bull grinned, patting Sera's shoulder. “And I don’t know about that. I think you might have someone who might be interested in doing nice things for you.” He waved as he left the café, the bell over the door giving a cheerful tinkle behind him.

Sera watched him for a few more moments before turning back around to the counter. In front of her was a plate with a small sugar cookie shaped like cartoonish honey bee. She blinked and glanced around, but all the baristas were cleaning up, clearly busy.

Well, save for one red-haired dwarf who gave her a shy smile as she wiped down the espresso machine.

* * *

Bull inhaled, his chest puffing slightly as he knocked on the door to Dorian’s apartment. With the coffee in hand, he shivered, the wind blowing in from the West. It was starting to get chilly out, so he was hoping that Dorian wasn’t so focused that he would miss the knocking or the bell. However after a short delay, he heard the telltale padding of slippered feet and the lock was pulled back.

The door opened, revealing one of the most incredibly beautiful men than Bull had the pleasure of meeting. "Hey handsome," he said with a wink, offering the cup.

“Bull?” Dorian said, clearly not expecting him even as he stepped back to allow him inside. "I thought you were out with your friends." He paused, still not taking the cup from Bull's hand. “Actually, this is really convenient. I have something for you.” He turned, silky robe fluttering with the motion as he bent over the coffee table. He muttered to himself in Tevene while he fumbling with the various papers (most of which were overdue bills) before coming up with a slightly bent envelope. 

Bull took it and raised an eyebrow. "What's this?"

Dorian smiled and swept his slightly limp bangs back. “I was hoping to have these yesterday, but Vivienne wasn’t in the office.” He tapped the back of the papers expectantly, looking both excited and nervous, more than the Bull had ever seen him before.

“Tickets? For the show?” Bull asked, opening the envelope . Dorian nodded, threading his fingers together in front of him. 

“I don’t know what your plans are that night, but I figured that if you did not want them that I could find someone else who might be-“ Pausing mid-sentence he glanced to the cup in the Bull’s opposite hand and said, “Is that for me?”

Bull smiled fondly, “If you want it. Figured you’d be doing another all-nighter.” He set the coffee cup down on the table and added, “Maybe some company too," he added, hopeful.

Dorian stared at the coffee cup for a moment and then smiled. “Company would be nice,” he agreed, taking the cup and inhaling the slightly bitter aroma. “Your company in particular.”

“I can do that.” Bull sank down onto the worn sofa, still holding the envelope in his hand. “So…you got me tickets…as in multiple?”

“Um…yes. I was rather hoping that you might join me.”

Raising an eyebrow, Bull said, “Just me, big guy?” 

Dorian averted his eyes, his cheeks darkening. Damn, he was gorgeous. “You should get to finally see the costumes that your overtime paid for.”

Waving him off, Bull shook his head. “It’s not really overtime. I miss working at Tama’s shop,” Bull said with a chuckle, “But sure, Dorian. I’d love to go to the show with you.” He paused and pulled at his sweat-stained t-shirt under his jacket. “But I don’t really have any fancy duds. Might have to rent a tux.”

There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch between them. Dorian swallowed thickly and put down the coffee which he hadn’t realized had frozen over in his very hands. Bull's eyes went wide at the sight. He had never seen Dorian lose control of his magic like that. 

“Dorian? What's wrong."

Shaking his head, Dorian met Bull’s gaze, seeing worry in the other man’s single eye. “Apologies. Gathering wool up there as usual I’m afraid.” He forced a smile, hiding something in those stormy eyes of his.

“Might wanna stop that. The sheep’ll get cold.” He felt his chest flutter at the soft bark of Dorian's laughter. The coffee melted and Bull relaxed as he watched the other man heat it back up until it was steaming.

He wanted to press, to find out why Dorian had reacted like that, but now wasn't the time. Maybe later after Dorian's walls had been brought down again.

Maybe after he made him cum so hard that the mage lost his common. 

* * *

The night of the opening seemed to creep up without any warning. The costumes were as finished as they could be, but Dorian still found himself packing his emergency bag. Maker forbid he’d have to do some repairs during intermission.

He had spent the last half hour on his hair, drying it with magic before gelling and styling it to look as artfully tousled as he could. Bull watched from the opposite side of the mirror, his own tux rather ill-fitting but still far nicer than anything else Dorian had seen him wear. You spend too much time on your hair and there won’t be any left for your make-up,” Bull commented as he picked up one of Dorian’s angled brow brushes. The Vint scowled and snatched it out of his hand.

“I know what I’m doing, Bull.” He opened his box of cosmetics, pulling out a tube of primer and his favored foundation. “My hair just doesn’t want to cooperate tonight.”

“I think it looks pretty good.”

Dorian glanced up, several spots of foundation on the T of his face. He sighed and shook his head, smoothing the cream with a small brush, adding concealer to the dark circles under his eyes. “Bull, you know I don’t appreciate empty flattery.”

Bull leaned against the wall, eyeing him up and down. “It wasn’t empty. You always look good, even if it’s not to your standards.” He watched as Dorian began to fill in his already dark brows and then focus on his eyes, adding a hint of smoke to his lids before lining them.

“You’ve got gorgeous eyes, you know.”

Dorian turned his head and brushed a small hint of rouge under the bone of his cheeks and smiled at Bull in the mirror. “It doesn’t exactly take much to impress you, does it? If Krem’s stories are to be believed.”

“I have varying tastes. Unconventional sometimes, but I wouldn’t say my standards are low.” He stepped behind Dorian, hands on the mage's waist, “Most people just happen to hit the bar. If you give them the chance.”

_And where do I fit in?_

Dorian turned, looking up at Bull from under his long lashes. He adjusted the watch around his wrist and the cuff-links keeping his jacket sleeves taunt and said, “Giving someone unconventional a chance requires a certain level of trust.” He straightened to his full height, staring at the Qunari in the mirror. “Don’t you agree, Bull?”

“Yeah, I can get with that. I don’t really take someone home unless I think they’re good people. I have a good eye for that sorta thing though.” Bull winked, “Kinda have to with only the one left.”

This man...this insufferable oaf of a man. Dorian smiled, fond. “Of course.” He touched the hem of Bull’s rental jacket which was just a touch too-short. “Next time, let me make you something. It will be leagues better than the selections at Le Grand et haut Boutique.”

Bull caught Dorian’s hand, holding the mage’s slightly callused fingers in his own.

“I’ll bet, big guy. You’re one helluva tailor.”

Dorian smiled, allowing himself the ego-boost. “I know I am.” He leaned up and pecked Bull’s lips boldly. “But I didn’t have time to make you more than a few accents. It was rather last minute since I didn't know if you would actually go with me tonight."

“Accents?” Bull asked with a curious look.

“You are by no means obligated to wear them,” Dorian quickly assured, stepping back into the bedroom, pulling out a small repurposed birthday bag. “I didn’t really wrap them either _…Kaffas_ , this looks a right mess.” He almost ran a hand through his hair, but he stopped himself from ruining the last hour's worth of work, instead touching his brow.

Bull placed his hands over Dorian’s. “It’s fine, big guy.” He took the bag from the mage and pulled out two strips of fabric, one long and thin, the other rather small. Both were a lovely shade of deep taffy pink.

“I thought the pocket square was a bit much, but Sera said that we should be ‘matchy-matchy’.” He took the smaller piece of fabric and tucked it into the front pocket of his suit jacket, the touch of color bringing out the details of his tailored clothes. “You do know how to tie a tie, right?”

Bull smiled, “I taught Krem how to.” He held out the length of silk, “But I think you want to do the honors.”

Dorian licked his lips and took the tie, waiting for Bull to sink down a bit to allow him to wrap it around his neck. His fingers traced the underside of Bull's collar as he deftly tied a handsome Windsor knot at the base of his throat. The entire time, his heart was beating a mile a minute.

“It looks good,” Bull said, turning to eye them both in the mirror. “Real good, _Kadan_.” He leaned down and kissed Dorian’s cheek, stroking his beauty mark. Dorian had no idea what that meant, but the way Bull said it...

_Maker preserve me._

Suddenly there was a loud obnoxious HONK from the front of the apartment. Dorian sighed and shook his head, going to the door.

Sera sat in the passenger’s seat of Dagna’s raised and tricked out Chevy, honking away while the Dwarf girl waved from the driver’s side “Come on, magey! Widdles and I are getting booored!"

Bull laughed and grabbed his phone off the charger. “Looks like our ride’s here. Ready to go?” he asked, offering his hand. Dorian looked him up and down, taking in the tie he had made and the smile on the other man's terribly scarred and terribly beautiful face.

Dorian threaded his fingers through Bull’s and nodded.

“As I’ll ever be.”


End file.
